This posting of Scruples numbers 16 and 17 ends the reprise that began in June-August 2020. Number 18 is a new addition to the series. This is its first appearance in print.
All told: “The idea of scruples has to do with ethics and morality: what is right and wrong. Scruples are a kind of moral compass that lets you know what’s right.” (https://www.vocabulary.com/dictionary/scruples )
16.
Being born losers ups the odds
to dead set against us.
We game each day until
there’s none in play.
Luck, as it so happens, can run
short or long, change direction,
swing from good to bad.
Our lot takes chances by choice.
Dealing with all kinds at any time
makes us gamblers for life.
17.
His eminence, hours into a tedious
speech about theology
in everyday space and time,
reaches a mute point.
Say no more, Aquinas, listen as heaven
revels, high strung harps pair
with dancing angels, corpus diem,
around the head of a pin…
To tell the truth, you’ve shown
they can in so many words.
Still riddled with doubt
is the nature of their gender,
be it male, female, or neither?
18.
Out of hunger, not pleasure, a pride
of lions leaves its lair at dawn,
bright and mighty on the prowl…
Until noon they have time to kill, cunning embodied in every move, their tour de force an ambush…
Sun o’clock— the only shade around
grows under acaccias. Bloody lions gather there to share the spoils in all fairness—
by merit, rank, age, gender,
without any growling allowed.
Three by 3 of March 2021-May 2021 reprised Scruples, numbers 10 thru 12. Numbers 13 thru 15 are the continuation. Their original posting dates were: 13 & 14 September-November 2017, 15 March-May 2019.
“The idea of scruples has to do with ethics and morality: what is right and wrong. Scruples are a kind of moral compass that lets you know what’s right.” (https://www.vocabulary.com/dictionary/scruples )
13.
One good look at the Danube—
from bank to bank—
shows it flowing south, of course,
broad and deep, a full length
channel, the current
more slick than surly…
As far as colors go, teal can appear dark
or light, except for a short time
within sight of Vienna…
There the water turns blue, the river waltzes along.
14.
If a bull enters
a crowded café,
those near an exit
can sneak out.
Others are better off
hiding behind a chair,
or under a table…
Alone, at the bar
a matador on a binge
sips another manzanilla…
Today he fought badly,
more afraid than brave,
his passes too safe,
spared by a stroke of luck
during the toque de muerte.
The bull glares back from the bottom
of an empty glass,
headstrong, looking for revenge.
Once in the ring,
there’s no escaping a hangover. .
15.
Let’s sing Happy Birthday together.
Those who can remember
the words, still carry a tune,
please gather around the table.
Someone should lower the curtains…
another bring in the cake…
How many candles are lit?
Our lot awaits with bated breath
until the time comes to blow
them out, while we’re able.
Three by 3 of December 2020-February 2021 reprised Scruples, numbers 7 thru 9. As promised, there’s more to come! Numbers 10 thru 12 are a continuation, along with readings of two of them. (Author’s note: number 10 was originally posted March-May 2016. The reprise is slightly edited in terms of format and word choice).
All told: “The idea of scruples has to do with ethics and morality: what is right and wrong. Scruples are a kind of moral compass that lets you know what’s right.” (https://www.vocabulary.com/dictionary/scruples )
10.
Today was meant for me
to find a starfish with seven arms, another
map stowed in a bottle,
a mixed bag of old coins…
The best beachcombing comes
after a storm;
as soon as the tide lies low,
more and more
flotsam shows up…
Whatever does can make
any day’s luck good
or bad… sometimes both.
11.
Honey—a bunch of Huns
is heading this way—
astride the mountain road,
raging at full gallop.
While I fetch the wagon,
take a last, fast look
around—make the load
good and light.
Those fiends won’t find
a soul to greet them,
much less do their bidding.
If all goes well, we’ll ferry
the river by dark,
hide on the safe side…
Elsewhere, only a miracle
can save our home,
sweet home, from the likes of them.
12.
Absinthe makes the heart grow fonder?
How much depends
on the way it’s concocted—
in a half filled glass, with
or without water, one
to three lumps of sugar.
As for when, anise tastes
bitter from the first sip…
After a few more, spirits
fresh out of the bottle
serve memories right, stir up
mixed feelings.
Three by 3 of September-November reprised Scruples, numbers 4 thru 6. As promised, there would be more to come! Numbers 7 thru 9 are the continuation. What’s new are my readings of them. (Click on the play icon to initiate).
All told: “The idea of scruples has to do with ethics and morality: what is right and wrong. Scruples are a kind of moral compass that lets you know what’s right.” (https://www.vocabulary.com/dictionary/scruples )
7.
Bigfoot is back in season, should
show up the more it snows,
leaving fresh tracks
there and then.
After a while, trails will
appear, clear cut
enough to follow.
Mounting a search party
takes some choosing.
Members must be as brave
as savvy, able bodied, get
along well, willing to bear
the burden of proof.
Once mustered, our mission
is to make contact
with this man,
beast, or both.
If it looks harmless and
waves a white flag,
so much the better.
8.
Too bad for the jar
of jellybeans
on the top shelf,
as a cat
with a sweet tooth
shows up, all
at once, out
of curiosity.
Worse comes soon
after, when
he starts pawing
around, by
and large, closer,
closer…
Their worst off
would be
if, in due time,
he devours
the strawberries,
key limes,
every cherry,
a whole lot
of tutti fruttis.
9.
After a while the fountain appears,
as moving as ever, water galore
from the mouths of cherubs
streaming into a pool.
The coins come from elsewhere,
airborne, toss ups
that started out as small change.
They lie, by chance, scattered
about, some sparkling
like new, others mistaken
for moss.
Those down the drain, sight
unseen, might
be twinkling in the dark.
Three by 3 of June-August 2020 reprised Scruples, numbers 1 thru 3. As promised, there would be more forthcoming. Numbers 4 thru 6 are the continuation.
All told: “The idea of scruples has to do with ethics and morality: what is right and wrong. Scruples are a kind of moral compass that lets you know what’s right.” (https://www.vocabulary.com/dictionary/scruples )
4.
At first, the youth
could barely twitter his flute…
He’d need years of practice
to grow up,
into a musician.
One of the streams in the forest
edged a glade.
Kindred spirits gathered there.
While he soloed, they chirped, croaked,
even hissed.
His pluck and striving
pleased the gods.
They´d never overheard a mortal so hip
at such a tender age.
Only Dionysus didn´t listen. No
boy could play
country like his kid, Pan.
5.
The rules of this boardinghouse’re
etched in stone.
We can’t miss the tablets—
they stand on
eye level shelves in the parlor—
one for does,
the other donts.
Our landlord lets rooms to strangers.
He’s in the business
of saving souls.
6.
In Medieval times wives wore
chastity belts when their spouses
weren’t around. All were leather bound
and lockable…some lined with silk,
others bejeweled.
The keys were custom made
from precious metals.
If her husband was a noble,
he’d have chosen gold; gilded
with their family crest.
Women were deemed the weaker sex;
fair prey for troubadours wandering
from castle to castle, waxing poetically
about forbidden fruit.
They were also musicians who could
make a lute sound sweeter than plums, as bitter as quince.
The first publication of Scruples was in three by 3, December 2013-February 2014. Numbers 1 and 2 were complimented with sound files. The latest, #17, was posted in March-May 2020. This is their first reprise with more to come!
All told: “The idea of scruples has to do with ethics and morality: what is right and wrong. Scruples are a kind of moral compass that lets you know what’s right.” (https://www.vocabulary.com/dictionary/scruples )
1.
Last night a meteorite fell
on our lawn. It’s as big
as a birdbath, but not
smooth and round, or white.
This one’s the darkest
we’ve seen since moving in.
Pitch black I´d say.
Also, more furrowed.
Around here, they come from
time to time. So far,
none’ve hit a house, just
backyards. Our’s landed
beside the rose garden.
Thank heaven it didn’t
singe any.
2.
The gate opens easily
because its hinges’ ve been oiled.
Now he can come and go
without feeling guilty.
But what about the latch?
Rusty…a spring’s missing…
another’s in pieces…
Tomorrow, next week, month,
it won’t work at all.
Then he’ll be locked out, or in.
3.
Lazarus´s alive. He’s eating breakfast
with his sisters. On the table
there’s fresh fruit, hot bread,
enough tea for everyone, including
well wishers who’ll soon
be swarming in like locusts.
Mary and Martha´re crying, but not
for joy. A pall’s fallen over the room.
He’s confused, angry…says
he was on the way to heaven
when it turned into a back
road to Bethany…that
their meddling in his afterlife
did more harm than good. Published in The Columbia Review
A rarity in three by 3 is a posting of only new poems. “Soul Searching’s Right of Way”, Scruples #17, “The Advent of Spring” were written between January and May 2020. They’re also posted in the order written.
Soul Searching’s Right of Way
So long as this trail wends
over hills, down dales,
lies steeped in sunlight, babbled
to by a passing brook—
on those grounds we spend a summer
day, hour after hour,
until dusk comes, and with it
a trail lurking in the dark…
Summer nights are heavenly sent—
when the moon beams,
lone stars cluster together.
In time, shadows show up,
some standing, others on the go—
between then and dawn
they appear everywhere, without
crossing our path.
Scruples
17
His eminence, hours into a tedious
speech about theology
in everyday space and time,
reaches a mute point.
Say no more, Aquinas, listen as heaven
revels, high strung harps pair
with dancing angels, corpus diem,
around the head of a pin…
To tell the truth, you’ve shown
they can in so many words.
Still riddled with doubt
is the nature of their gender,
be it male, female, or neither?
The Advent of Spring
Before sunrise many will congregate
around the church in utter silence,
all eyes uplifted, towards the steeple—
clerks, merchants, butchers, bakers
mingle with bankers and lawyers,
the mayor amongst them, standing alone.
The time of their lives is about to change—
now that winter’s waned spring
should be promising, a warm welcome
for kindred spirits who kept out
of harm’s way by staying indoors.
And so, as the town stirs, windows
open, streets become walkable,
fountains bloom in every plaza.
The vigil lasts until first light.
By then bells ring free of the icy grip
that had stilled their tongues.
Crystal clear they chime, a blessing
upon those also beholden
to the season’s better nature.
“Seasonal Unemployment,” “How to Succeed in Apiculture,” and ‘The Industrialization of Silk” were posted in three by 3, September-November 2014. Subsequently, the poetry journal miller’s pond published them in their winter 2017 edition.
This reprise offers three by 3 followers another chance to read the poems together under the theme “Working conditions.”
Seasonal Unemployment
Once I was a scarecrow
with acres of corn in my care.
I watched generations of seeds
grow up and flourish.
They made me feel alive.
Since then, with each harvest
leaving me less to do,
more to reflect on,
it´s becoming
as clear as clouds
that I´m no longer
needed by the farmer
who made me his
stand in.
Now, autumn´s night frost
freeze dries my stitches,
and every day almost
winter winds pick them apart.
Limb by limb, I´m losing
all my inner support:
straw´s running out,
a broomstick’s severed.
In a barn, somewhere,
there´s a man
weighing his good fortune.
And here I am — over the hill,
facing a field full
of nothing.
How to Succeed in Apiculture
Plenty of bees swarming around
his hive, others flying in,
and out…
With veiled enthusiasm,
he’s there to take stock of the boxes,
prying not to upset any
while looking for honeycombs.
Those chosen for culling
should be found dripping, larger
than a man’s hands.
For stowing, his back’s strapped with a knapsack
which, like always, should soon be bulging;
by the end of summer,
much too small.
As for the bees, they’d
be a wild bunch without him;
their nest no more than a batch
of wax branching from a tree
nowhere near this pasture sown
with rye and clover.
The Industrialization of Silk
One summer, with the Empire in full bloom,
the mulberry trees stood leafless,
their branches alive with
tea colored cocoons.
Legend says that some fell
into a bucket of boiling water,
ending up as threads ready for weaving.
The first bolt was rushed to Court—
a fabric so fine it tingled, so light
it fluttered from hand to hand.
Finally, after much discussion
and no consensus, the Emperor decreed
that only nobles who paid taxes
could trade in silk.
He also forbade exporting
the eggs, with good reason…
Outside his realm, rulers
were as greedy as thieves,
and ruthless.
That was millenniums ago.
Now all sorts of bolts, from crepe
to taffeta, are produced, worldwide,
on high-speed looms. And thanks to genetics,
the larvae eat less, grow faster, spin
larger cocoons. Even the dirty work
of boiling is automated; no longer
done by artisans on a small scale.
Given today’s growing demand for silk,
the worms need to be massacred.
Included in three by 3 of September-November 2018 was “Calliope’s Conundrum”. The creativity and resourcefulness of the Muse also figures in The Tales of the Arabian Nights. Her name is Scheherzade and she became the inspiration for “At Long Last the Sultan’s Won Over”.
Scruples #1 appeared in three by 3, December 2013-February 2014. Along with an explanation of intent, an audio clip reading was attached. #16 is the latest entry.
While critiquing my poems recently, I realized that none were written in the first person. “O Me, O My,” hopefully settles the score, once and for all.
At Long Last the Sultan’s Won Over
“In this oasis, the king cobra
reigns supreme, his real estate
a lot of palms that can stand the sun,
as well as water rights over
a fountain waiting in the shade.
Trade bound caravans cross the desert
from dawn to dusk, along a silk route
which, if all goes well, finds them
heading steadily for the horizon.
Come nights they’re bound to tent
down among the dunes, pitched
against wind and restless sand.
Far better than out in the open
is an oasis of untold wonders…”
Putting it into words takes
heart, imagination, a lullaby.
Among the Sultan’s brides, one spins tales
which please him over and over,
by now numbering a thousand.
How many more before she’s home free?
Woe upon Scheherazade whose chances
for a happy ending are subject
to his bidding, her services rendered.
16
Being born losers ups the odds
to dead set against us.
We game each day until
there’s none in play.
Luck, as it so happens, can run
short or long, change direction,
swing from good to bad.
Our lot takes chances by choice.
Dealing with all kinds at any time
makes us gamblers for life.
O Me, O My
Lyric relates to poetry of limited length expressing
thoughts and especially subjective feelings.*
1
i…
2 i…
3
I…
4
I…
Which of these selves can write a sonnet
so versed in rhyme and meter
that when read aloud it rings as true
as the “doodle dos” of a cock at dawn;
whose words, on paper, not only meet
the eye, they make a lasting impression?
May the bard within Michael Bates rise,
body and soul, befitting the occasion.
*A Reader’s Guide to Literary Terms
Beckson and Ganz
This posting marks three by 3’s eighth year of publication. In commemoration, three poems are reprised: “On Andean Time” was originally posted in December 2014, “The Main Attraction in Marrakesh,” December 2015 and “A Self Guided Tour of Pompeii,” March 2017. Accordingly, they all relate to a place within a context of time.
On Andean Time
By degrees, the lower slopes turn
into a kaleidoscope—
on one side, blue mingles with white,
a split image of the sky.
On the other, yellow flashes—
as bright as sunlight…
In winter these slopes look like
the rest of the mountain—
no flowers blooming out
of season, only near and far
the cold glow of snow.
The Main Attraction in Marrakesh
On weekdays, as a rule,
the market opens
after morning prayers,
closes before evening call…
The old wall looks like a floor
covered with rugs in a range
of sizes, shapes, magic colors.
Whenever the wind blows,
they wave for attention.
Perfume vendors mind booths
lined with shelves.
They sell by scent, amount,
choice of bottle.
Each promises more
than he can deliver.
The spice stalls make
breathing a pleasure.
Deep draughts, one
after another, bring out
their best and worst.
In a tent armed with guards,
there’s much to see,
but not touch.
Glass counters, aisle
by aisle, showcase rare gems,
jewels fit for a sheik.
Tourists are always welcome,
even those who only
browse, complain about
the dust and heat.
Shoppers with hard currency
can buy whatever they want.
A Self Guided Tour of Pompeii
1.
The citizens of Pompeii worshiped lots of gods—
publicly in temples, privately at home.
Jove, Jupiter, Minerva, Apollo, topped the rosters.
Thanks to them fortune fared good or bad.
More, but of lesser stature, meddled in household affairs.
The Lares enshrined within atriums look human,
dress alike, carry buckets laden with wine,
big and small horns for serving.
2.
Tourists visiting the City view Vesuvius
to the north, weather permitting.
Its dark side hides within a deep crater
that can erupt at any time.
The latest, in 1944, lasted a week,
razed an allied air base, neighboring towns,
buckled the strada to Naples.
3.
On display among the ruins
lie mummies from all walks of life.
Cooling lava cast them, by chance,
in their final moments.
They remain mute while plaques
in French, Italian, English,
cite facts and figures
incapable of explaining why.
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